


Vinyl

by CloudyRain27



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Murder, Mystery, Period-Typical Sexism, Time Skips, britishisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-25 06:24:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18255566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudyRain27/pseuds/CloudyRain27
Summary: The Riddle's died tragically in Riddle Manor, triggering a plethora of events that could all be traced back to one person.Tom Marvolo Riddle.





	1. Philosophies

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Kat and Aubry! ily you two so much

_ December 18, 1937 5:56 PM _

  
  


He was talking to a group of new associates when she came, wearing a black velvet evening gown that was both conservative and fashionable. Unlike the gaggle of ladies in the ballroom, Hermione didn't wear jewellery or flashy sequins in her dress; in lieu of it, she had a tastefully stitched lion in front of her gown. 

 

It was bold yet conservative and very much like  _ her.  _ Beautiful in it’s simplicity, bold in it’s declarations.

 

He felt like a weight had been lifted of his chest, like an oppressive cloud had cleared and he was finally free from the darkness. 

 

To be honest, he hadn’t really been sure she would come. He hadn’t seen her in years, and she had a history of snubbing and ignoring him out of spite, which was terribly inconvenient at times, but that did not mean that he did not hold out hope.

 

What was it that the old goat said again?

 

_ “Hope is such a fickle sentiment, Tom. You must only hold it out for what you deem most special and true.” _

 

While he didn’t believe in most of the senile old man’s white washed ideologies, he could sometimes hear truth in his ramblings.

 

Tom was special, a genius, charismatic and the  _ darling  _ of little hangleton.  His attention should only ever be held by whom he deemed worthy and  _ special _ . And Hermione Granger, his ex-girlfriend and notorious contract killer, fit the bill  _ perfectly. _

 

                                                                                                                           ooO~Ooo  
  


_ December 18, 1924 11:37 AM _

 

The first time he saw her was in a library. And not just any library, mind you, but the esteemed and revered Hogwarts library. It was his sanctuary, his safe haven from the blithering buffoons he had to deal with on a daily basis. 

 

He went on a Tuesday, when he knew fewer people usually came and researched. He had been following that schedule for years now, and it had never failed him before. Almost no one ever came on Tuesdays.

 

Which is why he was surprised when he bumped with a red-haired man exiting the premises, knocking the precious scrolls and books he was returning for Headmaster Dippet.

 

“Sorry, mate! I was in a hurry and I didn’t see you there.” 

 

He curled his lip in disdain at the freckled-faced imbecile. “Please, watch where you're going next time.”

 

The man then, attempted to to pick up the scrolls and books, before Tom promptly swatted the hands away upon seeing the sweat that nearly drenched his hands.

 

“Please refrain from touching me  _ or  _ the scrolls and books, they’re sensitive and cannot be exposed to  _ sweaty hands.  _ You’ve nearly ruined them with your carelessness.”  He sneered.

 

There was no reason to be polite to  _ this  _ man, judging by the uniform, he was nothing but a measly janitor for the college.  _ Dippet must have hired him recently. _

 

“I’m really sorry, mate. I didn’t mean to.” The janitor said, scratching the back of his neck. And Tom might have believed him, if it weren’t for his brilliant penchant for catching  _ liars. _

 

“Look,” He searched for the engraved name tag usually given to staff, it read  _ Weasley. “ _ Mr. Weasley, I have no doubt that you are deeply regretful and apologetic for your rather,  _ imbecilic  _ actions, but I  _ have  _ to go. Please, stop blocking the entrance.”

 

The redhead complied almost immediately, moving from the entrance and away from the Library building with one last rude word:

 

“Prat.”

 

Tom did not feel any inclination whatsoever to retaliate to such a childish remark, retaliating would suggest that he was threatened, which we he most certainly was  _ not. _

 

He made his way to the entrance, just in time to see Madam Pince leave for her lunch break. When she spotted him, a fond smile bloomed in her taut face.

 

“Tom, just in time as always.”, She greeted.

 

He gave her a charming smile, “Good morning, madam Pince. Headmaster Dippet, sent me to return these books and I figured I’d do it, since it coincides with your lunch break.”

 

She stepped forward and made a move to take the heavy books from his hands, he stepped back. 

 

“I’ll take care of this, Madam Pince. It’s the least I could do.”

 

A beaming smile appeared on her face as she pinched his cheeks. “You are  _ such  _ a sweet boy.” He fought the urge to push her away.

 

Madam Pince had always treated him like her own son, and while it might have its perks, often times it was plain annoying.

 

He sighed, he had to do this to earn her favour. He would endure her misplaced affection as long as it afforded him a free pass to the restricted section.

 

Still.

 

“Goodness, you look thin! I’ll bring you packed lunch, as soon as I finish my break.” She said with pinched lips.

 

“It really  _ would  _ be necessary, madam—”

 

“Nonsense! A growing boy needs to eat.” She grabbed her bag and went for the exit, “I’m off to the cafeteria, now. Take care of the library whilst I’m gone!”

 

He shook his head, expasrated . When did she become such a mother hen? Did he somehow encourage her? 

 

He didn’t want to dwell on it, choosing instead to grab a trolley from the rack and putting the books and scrolls there.

 

He idly pushed the trolley around the library, humming a tune and putting the books in their respective places.

_ Medicine, Herbology, Philosophy, More philosophy, _

  
  


When he was at his last stop, which was Greek and Roman philosophies, he stopped. A bushy-haired, trouser-wearing  _ girl _ was in the section . He had never seen her before, therefore assuming that she was new, still his surprised didn’t wane.

 

It was not often that he saw the fairer sex anywhere near books. Much less reading them. 

 

He had entertained the idea, that she was here with her husband or fiance and was, wandering aimlessly, attempting to fill her empty brain with legends and stories she couldn’t possibly comprehend.

 

He had thought that was the case, but then he caught sight of something. Something peculiar, something that simply did not fit his deduction.

 

Just as she turned the page of the book, he caught sight of  _ nothing _ . Which was why it was all  _ wrong.  _

 

There was no engagement ring or wedding ring to be seen. No glint of gold or silver that he had been expecting.

 

He blinked.

 

She was unmarried, then. He frowned and looked around, searching for her designated chaperone and once again finding nothing.

 

Was she here all on her lonesome? He sniffed, how uncouth. She must come from a unrefined family if she couldn’t even bring her own chaperone to protect her honor.

 

While that made her already useless in his mind, it still didn’t answer the question of  _ why  _ she was there.

 

This was a man’s place, there was no place for a woman like—

 

_ Oh. _

 

He curled his lip at the realization. No wedding rings, no chaperones and trousers that any proper lady would know  _ not  _ to wear. 

 

She was a prostitute. 

 

She was clever being here in the library, where rich gents often frequented.

 

And so, he intervened accordingly. He refused to let her presence stain the sanctity of the his  _ home. _

 

He approached her with steady steps and a careless air, his gait relaxed and friendly.

 

“Excuse me miss, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” he ticked off invisible dust in his robes. “Right this instant, I’m afraid.”

 

Her back was still turned away from him, her stance straightening from the relaxed posture she affected while reading the book. He clenched his fist as she slowly put  _ Eurydyce: The bargain with Hades  _ back in the shelves, where they rightly belonged.

 

He tapped his foot impatiently. He had no time for dealing with slags.

 

“This place is for students of the Hogwarts College and for dedicated readers  _ only. It  _ isn’t a place for someone looking to score and shag someone.”

 

He nearly jumped when she suddenly turned around, staring down at him, looking down at him. He grit his teeth, mentally cursing the orphanage and their “protein mixes”. 

 

He hadn’t thought she was  _ this  _ tall.

 

He looked up at her, refusing to be intimidated by her height. She had a small button nose, freckles that surrounded said nose and brown eyes that squinted furiously at him. 

 

“I’m sorry, but do I know you? Have we met before?” Her voice snapped harshly in the silence of the library.

 

“Evidently not.”

 

She curled her lips into what she must have consider a disdainful smile. “Then it’s very presumptuous of you to think I’m a slag, now isn’t it? You don’t know me and I don’t know  _ you.” _

 

His jaw ticked. Why the bloody dickens would she be here otherwise?

 

He smiled with false patience. “I’m apologize for the misunderstanding, miss?...”

 

“Granger. Hermione Granger.”

 

“Hermione..” He nodded his head and paused, tasting her name in his tongue. What an interesting name. “Miss Granger, I’m terribly sorry for my prior rudeness. You can never be too careful nowadays.”

 

Her riotous hair seemed to fizzle and grow even bushier at his words and she was flushed like a tart.

 

“Are you implying that I look like a  _ call girl _ ?”

 

He pursed his lips in an innocent manner, lowering his head sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything by it, madam. I apologize if I have, yet again offended you.”

 

She narrowed her eyes at him.

 

He sighed, not faking it this time. “Why don’t we start again, miss Granger. My name is Tom Riddle, head boy of Hogwarts College.”

 

He caught her eyes widen imperceptibly before she quickly tamped it down.

 

“Fine. My name is Hermione Granger, transfer student of Hogwarts college.” His eyebrows rose at its own accord. She offered her hand automatically, as if she had done this a dozen times over.

 

‘Perhaps, she might have some manners after all’, he thought snidely as he pressed a chaste kiss to the back of her hand.

 

“Forgive me if I’m skeptical, Miss Granger, but I didn’t know Hogwarts had a transfers program, let alone for a… lady of high esteem such as yourself.”

 

He was well aware that he was laying it on a bit thick and, judging by the sharp glint of her eyes, she knew it too.

 

Everyone at Hogwarts had known each other their entire lives, they had all been there since they were doe-eyed eleven year olds, transfer students were basically unheard of in the prestigious school. Women too, were rare. Tom could count with one hand, the number of opposite sex that resided and studied at Hogwarts.

 

“Look, Riddle, whatever game you want to play, don’t play it with me. I have better things to do and I reckon with a name like yours, you have better things to do too.”

 

His eyes widened, she couldn't possibly know. He had worked hard, exploiting his followers connections just to bury his past.

 

“Word runs fast in Little Hangleton, don’t you think?”

 

He froze.

 

She was looking at him with a coy smile, on her lips, looking as if she had just won the lottery. He looked around the library and deduced that no one was with them at this moment, Madam Pince was at her lunch break, which gave him approximately one hour. He could easily push her up the shelf. While she most certainly had the height advantage,  _ he _ had a pocket knife in his calf, he could grab it and—

 

A swift kick in the gut cut him of mid-thought. It knocked him off breathless, He coughed, the pain in his abdomen blurring his senses. 

 

Tom saw red.  _ How dare she? How dare she punch the Heir of Slytherin?   _

 

He acted, standing up and snatching the knife from his calf. Her eyes widened. He grinned smugly, circling her like a predator would prey.

She scrambled back, her light chestnut hair freeing from her constricting bun. 

 

“I know what you are,  _ Riddle.” _ She spat, “I know what you and your little gang did at Riddle Manor, and mark my words, you will  _ not  _ get away with it.”

 

Something passed between them, a fleeting mix of fear and excitement wrapped in a leather and wood. He feels it, the tension in the air, the coarse and bitter taste of hatred.

 

And suddenly it clicked.

 

Shooting. Family. Screams. Neighbours. Kill.

 

_ “Tom, please… I’m your fath— _

 

_ “Kill all of them. Don’t leave any witnesses.” _

 

_ “Spare my daugh— _

 

_ “Shite, Tom, she escaped.” _

 

“Granger...” He shook his head, his eyebrows scrunching in disbelief. “You’re the neighbours daughter.”

 

And he can see she’s befuddled, her eyes wide and lips parted in shock. Befuddled that  _ he  _ can remember her.

 

_ She looks pretty when she’s surprised _ , he decided in that minute.  _ A shame, that I’ll have to take advantage of it. _

 

Before she could so much as utter a word, he brings the knife to two inches from his head and aimed for her foot. Not lethal, but enough to incapacitate for further interrogation. As he was about to plunge the knife he was caught off guard by her strangely determined expression, as if she had known this would happen. He shrugged it off and threw the knife, hitting precisely her  _ Medial Plantar _ artery.

 

The blood oozed and dribbled as she whimpered. He stared, fixated at her undulating wound, half- aware of her pathetic whimpers.

 

_ It was beautiful. _

  
  



	2. Invitations and volunteers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aubry, (light of my life, my reason for living) Thank you so much for everything! ily so much!

_ December 18, 1937 6:02 PM _

 

“Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen.”

 

He politely nodded his head and removed himself from their company, standing up and buttoning his jacket.

 

His eyes met hers, and with a tilt of his head, he directed her to head to the far corner of the room. Unfortunately for him, it was also where lovers talked privately without interruptions. Going there with  _ her  _ could lead to  _ unsavory  _ rumors.

 

Judging by the way she raised her eyebrow, she knew that too. Not that she cared, of course. She had nothing to lose, he had everything. While she could easily skip cities and go on her merry way, he couldn’t. She had the uncanny ability to disappear, where even  _ he  _ couldn’t find her. It was like Hermione Granger never existed, like she was merely a pipe dream, a hallucination.

 

Their differences never deterred them; in fact, he’d argue it was the very thing that left the both of them wanting and craving for more.

 

Hermione cocked her head to the side, with a curl of her lip, as if to say ‘ _ coward.’ _

He shook his head and stared at the ground, smiling. A real smile, a genuine smile that hadn’t graced his face since  _ she  _ left. It felt like the old times.

 

He made his way towards her, his walk confident and determined.  He could feel the whispers and stares of the onlookers.

 

_ “Who is she? I hope Tom, doesn't fancy her.” _

 

_ “She looks familiar, doesn't she, Abraxas?” _

 

_ “...Must be an old flame. Let the boy be, Walburga.”  _

 

He ignored them and went straight to where she predictably was. The open bar. He slid in the available seat right next to her, propping up his elbow on the counter.

 

“Hermione, or is it Mariah, right now?” He teased, resting his hand on her right shoulder. “I’m glad to see you’ve made it.” 

 

She chuckled, a sweet melodic sound that filled his ears.

 

“It’s Deborah, today.” 

 

He wrinkled his nose. “What a poor choice of name.”

 

“It was Draco’s suggestion. He said it’ll help me blend in with the crowd, no one’ll ever notice a ‘Deborah’.” She said, curling her finger moc

 

He grit his teeth at the mention of  _ him _ , the traitor.  

 

“The ferret’s still around, is he?”

 

“He helps me move around and stuff. It helps to have a friend with a little bit of money on their bank account.” She murmured with a side glance at Tom.

 

He stiffened and stood up, almost tempted to leave. 

 

That was low, even for her. He deserved it he supposed, with all the thing he’d done to her in the past.

 

He sighed and sat back down , opting instead to pour himself some  _ Dalmore  _ and drinking it all in one go. Liquid strength, in all his years he never needed it until now.

 

“You wouldn’t be in this difficult predicament if you had just accepted my offer, Hermione.”

 

She ignored him in favour of her drink, downing her  _ Penfold Ampoule,  _ in one go. Afterwards, staring at him long and hard, as if she was trying to dissect him.

 

He stared back, undeterred.

 

“I don’t want to stay under your thumb, Tom. I have too much going and…” She gestured between them. “You and me... we have too much history together.”

 

He stayed silent, preferring to brood than answer her question. It was true, they  _ did  _ have too much history together. Both of them drank. They drank to fill the silence, they drank to fill the gaps. At the end, she was sloshed and he was not. She was always a lightweight.

 

So much has changed between them.  _ He _ was not the ill-tempered teenager who was wet behind the ears anymore and  _ she  _ was not the frightened little girl anymore. Everything had changed and yet some things remain unchanged. Some emotions still refused to change. 

 

It was momentum. A conjoining of two souls that loved and loved back, separated by the judgement of their demons.

 

“I wasn’t supposed to come, you know.” She whispered, her eyes glassy. “But I had a job in the city and… I couldn’t resist. It’s been years, Tom.”

 

He brought her hand to his face, nuzzling it. “I know, Hermione. I know.”

 

They were chaotic and messy, they weren’t meant to be and yet, and yet they were here. 

 

Whatever this was, whatever he felt; he couldn’t let go, but  _ she _ wanted to.

 

          And weren’t you helpless against the whims of your lover?

                                                               *

She didn’t stop drinking after that. He had tried to stop her, but was promptly swatted away.

 

“ _ You _ don’t get to tell me what to do!”

 

He had gritted his teeth at that, he knew that. She didn’t have to remind him.

 

He watched. He watched the way she avoided his eyes even after all these years, how she never seemed to relish the taste of alcohol, of how she drank it in one go like a sailor. He watched. He watched her after all these years, and realized that he had missed her.

 

He  _ missed  _ her.

 

How strange yet familiar that word was to him. He drank more from his cup and curled his lip.

 

He had the last straw when she attempted to make a scene, drunkenly standing and pointing an accusing finger at him.

 

_ “This—This man ruined my life.”   _ She was barely standing up, swaying like the reeds from the lake near the house they had once called home.

 

Whispers had one again rose, old women with nothing better to do with their lives giggling and sneering at them.

 

“Hermione, please calm down. We’ll talk later.” Her intoxicated eyes flared. He didn’t give her the time to respond before he gathered her into his arms, shielding her from their covetous stares.

 

He glared and sneered back at them. They quickly looked away, their mutterings less distinct.

 

Hermione’s grip on his neck tightened as she sniffed at his suit, silent tears still pouring. 

 

“Come now, love. Calm down.” He stroked her hair and guided the both of them out of the ballroom and out of the prying eyes.

 

Before they reached the exit, he caught Abraxas’ wide shocked eyes and nodded his head towards the doors. The blonde immediately understood and followed suit, easily catching up with him dragging and almost unconscious Hermione.

 

They walked in silence, the crickets in the garden buzzing pleasantly. At the corner of his eye, he saw Abraxas looking at both Hermione and him with disbelieving eyes.

 

He withheld a sigh and tugged Hermione closer to him, “What is it, Abraxas. Tell me your thoughts.”

 

“Is that—”  

 

“Yes.”

 

He didn’t have to look at Abraxas’ face to know that he was amazed. Abraxas had been the person he had tasked to look for Hermione  _ years  _ ago. Tom had chosen him because he was apparently fond of the her himself. 

 

He had, of course, reassured Tom a number of times that it a “purely platonic friendship.” and that he was doing it to find his traitor cousin Draco too.

 

That was years ago and he still hadn’t a clue where they were. Until now, that is.

 

“How’d you find her, m’lord?” Abraxas questioned, his tone deceptively casual.

 

“I didn’t. I sent her a letter.” He said in like and if he wasn’t holding Hermione, he would’ve been inspecting his nails for added effect.

 

They neared the entrance of the building and stopped talking, having spotted his chauffeur already waiting with an opened car door.

 

“Where are we going?” Asked Abraxas.

 

Where else would they go? Malfoy’s house was the nearest.

 

“Your house, of course.” he nodded to the the auburn-haired chauffeur in acknowledgment and deposited Hermione gently to the backseat.

 

She looked glorious with her hair frizzy hair strewn over the carseat, like a halo above her head. Her dress had bunched off slightly, leaving a bit more leg than was appropriate. He extended his hand to touch the exposed skin, but momentarily drew back.

 

Abraxas was here. He looked at the blonde and was not surprised to see him already staring at her from the front seat.

 

Tom grit his teeth and glared at the Abraxas, the blonde didn’t notice still transfixed on his Hermione. He was basically undressing her with his eyes.

 

“Platonic”, my arse.

 

He reached for the pocket inside his jacket and gripped the silver lighter his father had gifted him, throwing it to Abraxas’ face. 

 

The blonde screamed, blood dripping from his face. He smirked, that seemed to get his attention. His throw was precise and hard enough to break the git’s nose.

 

“You shouldn’t look at things that aren’t yours, Abraxas.” He took off his tear stained jacket, draping it over her bare legs. He took one last look at her before backing up and closing the car door.

 

He hummed and fished the keys from his pocket, still high from the punishment he had just enacted. 

 

He opened the door to front seat of his  _ Chrysler  _ started the engine, he looked over Abraxas and grimaced at the blood still dripping his face.

 

He threw the blonde his handkerchief, “Clean yourself up, won’t you? You’ve yet to tell your parents that I’m your guest of honor and will be staying the night.”

 

The threat hung at the air.

 

“Yes, m’lord.”

 

                                                                                         oooO~Oooo

              
  


_ December 18, 1924 12:32 AM _

 

He shook his head and forced himself to look away from the bleeding appendage.

 

Granger’s screams had died gradually as she desperately muffled it with her hand, tears pouring in her eyes. He watched as she seemed to hesitate before finally, pulling the knife from her foot.

 

“Shite, that hurt.” She cursed with her eyes closed. Agony seemed to pour from her in waves, along with that was anger.

 

He watched curiously as she tore the sleeve of her sweater to create a makeshift tourniquet, biting her lip in pain.

 

In that moment he wanted to hurt her more, to make her scream more. He wanted to pummel her, until her pretty mouth couldn’t spout filthy words. He  _ was  _ going to, he had already planned it, that is until the shrill voice of the librarian interrupted, what might have been his early birthday present.

  
  


“...Tom, dearest, are you still there?” The coddling voice of Madam Pince called. “I bought 

lunch for you, heaven knows you’re too thin. It’s vegetable salad with custard sauce.”

 

Tom and the girl froze.

 

He quickly scrambled up, smoothing his slightly tousled hair and knit pullover and plastering on, what he hoped was, a charming smile.

 

At the corner of his eye, he saw the Granger girl do the same. He could see that the bleeding had slightly stopped. 

 

He stifled a smirk as she placed her injured foot in in the back of her left foot, effectively hiding it from Madam Pince’s view. She was also attempting to smile, though it looked much more like a grimace.

 

She reminded him of Anastasia in one of the Grimm’s fairy tales, except  _ hers  _ had only been stabbed, not cut off entirely.

 

“I’m still here, Madam Pince.” He called to the stern librarian over the counter. “I’m just acquainting myself with a new… classmate.”

 

“Classmate?” he heard her question, her heels clicking loudly against the marble floor. “I don’t think I heard Dippet, announcing there was someone new…”

 

He watched rapt fascination how the Granger girl’s breath seemed to hitch. She seemed nervous, unsure even. 

 

The clacking of of the librarians heels grew louder and louder, signalling her impending approach. He distanced himself a good five feet away from the Granger girl, lest he be deemed improper.

 

One scandalous act could ruin him forever.

 

“Ah, there you  _ are.”  _ Madame Pince stressed, her lips stretching into a fond smile. She handed him the pack lunch. “Eat. Not inside the library, goodness no. Go outside and eat. I won’t have you accidentally pouring custard in my books.”

 

The librarian’s face crinkled, as if remembering a foul memory. She adjusted her glasses and looked at the girl to Tom’s right.

 

“And who might you be?” She stepped closer to the girl. “Are you the new classmate young Tom was talking about?”

 

“I am, Madame. My uncle admitted me this morning. He’s a professor, you see, his name’s Albus Dumbledore?”He was positive the impish smirk on her face was there for his benefit.

 

He almost choked on his own spit, before he gracefully composed himself. Dumbledore? The girl who tried to kill him was a  _ Dumbledore?  _ His entire perception of her... changed.

 

Many questions arose from his mind, drifting like the sea. 

 

_ Who  _ was she?  _ What  _ was she doing here? Was she  _ spying  _ for Dumbledore?

 

Before he could could begin to analyze the questions springing from his mind, Colin creevey, Hogwarts student and local messenger came barreling in.

 

Creevey was breathless by the time he was by Madam Pince’s side, clutching a piece of rolled up paper in his right arm with a violet ribbon.

 

In the early days of Hogwarts, violet was a rare and expensive color, more than 9,000 mollusks were needed to create just one gram of Tyrian purple in the 16th century. It was usually the kind of color the nobles or Royals wore to signify their status. It meant, power, extravagance and  _ authority. _

 

As the color lost its significance and rarity, Hogwarts still kept it as a tradition. It  _ always  _ only represented one person; and that was the Headmaster.

 

“Madam, Headmaster Dippet sent me to deliver an  _ urgent  _ letter.” The boy thrusted the rolled up paper to the librarian, shaking slightly. 

 

Tom observed the stern librarian’s reactions as she read, watching her curious face turn into worry and distress, to anger and bafflement.

 

Something must have happened.

 

“As much as I’d like to indulge the two of you, I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans.” She tittered, her lips etched into a frown.

 

He immediately took the chance, “What happened, madam?” 

 

Madam Pince pursed her lips, “ _ Someone  _ burnt down the chemistry building and Headmaster Dippet has required that all students go back to their dorms. The library will be closed the rest of the day.”

 

She looked at him sternly.

 

“Of course, Madam.” He lowered his head to the ground in deference.

 

The librarian turned to the Granger girl, “And,  _ you _ . Do you have any male or acquaintances  in this school to escort you safely out?”

 

He perked at that. Escorting Granger could give him time to weedle information out of her, maybe even some blackmail.

 

He was about to volunteer when a new voice joined in. 

 

“I’ll escort her, Madam.” 

 

He had never seen the man before, not on campus at least. The man wore an obviously expensive suit three piece and had green emerald eyes. 

 

He looked and walked like old money, just like the Malfoy. Except this man, obviously didn’t know how to tame his ridiculous rats nest hair.

 

“And who might you be?” The librarian asked, adjusting her glasses, assessing eyes flitting over the man.

 

The man smiled with teeth , “Harry. Harry potter, madame.” He stepped closer to the Granger girl and offered his elbow to her.

 

She immediately took it. 

 

“I’m Hermione’s fiance.”  
  
  
  


 

 

                                                                                                  *

 

 

 

 

“Did Ron manage to put the tracker on him?”

 

The green eyed man smiled at his brunette haired friend.

 

“He did.”

 

“When are they going to activate it?”

 

“Sirius says, they’ll activate it once MI6 gets a lockdown on his coordinates.”

 

“Good, everything is going according to plan.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up so much fluffier than I expected lmao
> 
> I feel like i made tom too sweet and soft, but :shrug:
> 
>  
> 
> ....stay tuned


End file.
